It's Just Business
by bluestring
Summary: "This should all be just business and nothing more." A Modern AU fic where Bilbo Baggins gets a job at Thorin's Company and realizes that there is so much more he had to do than what his job description states. Thorin is a workaholic who will learn about life, love and the power of miracles that come in small and unexpected packages.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **This is my first Hobbit fanfic. I hope you guys would go easy on me. I also hope that you guys would enjoy reading :)

**Disclaimer: **I do not own anything familiar.

CHAPTER ONE

Bilbo gritted his teeth and rubbed his temples, desperately trying to remedy the headache caused by the cacophony of sounds coming from the other side of the cab's window. It was a mixture of honking cars, incessant chatter coming from the people bargaining outside and the rain pelting on the window. The addition of the rumble of thunder and crackle of lightning, made him feel worse. The battling of the two forces of nature surprised poor Bilbo so much that his head was sore from hitting it against the cab's roof.

"Scared of thunder?" The cab driver asked, adjusting the rear view mirror to check if his passenger is still alive.

Bilbo gulped.

"No, no." He tittered. "Say, what are the odds that a cab stuck in a traffic jam would get struck by lightning?"

"One in a million." The driver said non-chalantly, rolling his eyes. "Besides, it's not the lightning you should worry about. Tell me, Mr.?"

"Baggins."

"Mr. Baggins. Do you know how to swim?"

Bilbo threw the bills at the driver, not bothering to get the change. He stepped out of the cab and took a deep breath. There were only five minutes left for him to look for the place where they would meet.

"Meet me at the Esgaroth Café. 1:00 P.M. sharp. Don't be late." Gandalf had texted him.

Gandalf never did approve of tardiness, not that he ever was or planning to be.

And after dragging his suitcase around town asking locals – who had the audacity to sell him things even after he told them he was in a hurry – he arrived at a quaint café. Albeit soaked and shivering, he couldn't help but feel elated that he arrived just in the nick of time.

The smell of coffee brewing and butter melting on pastries welcomed him in. It reminded him of his mother- the one person he wishes was right beside him in his current travel to foreign places. Places he hoped to call home just as easily as she did.

"Bilbo Baggins." A blurry gray figure approached and hugged him. "I've never been so glad to see anyone in my life."

"Yes. Good day, Mr. Grey."

"There is no need for such formalities. We're just friends having a small reunion."

"A true friend would tell his friend the reason for the 'reunion' and explain what is going on - in detail."

Bilbo hung his dripping coat on a chair and slumped into the cushions of the couch Gandalf chose for them.

"I thought I was clear enough. If I wasn't, then you, my dear fellow, wouldn't be here." Gandalf smirked.

Bilbo opened and closed his mouth.

"You could've at least told me, _warned me_, about Laketown." He muttered.

"Warned you?"

"Why,yes! The cab driver said that this town floods quickly and-" Bilbo lowered his voice. "I don't know how to swim."

Gandalf deeply laughed.

"Oh, they are prepared. There is no need to worry."

Bilbo sighed, looking out the window. The rain was relentlessly pouring with drops so fine; one could easily have mistaken it for fog. The view, which should've been calming, only aggravated Bilbo's current state.

"Sir, your order."

A waitress approached them, placing two cups of tea and two cakes on the table. She looked at Bilbo and her eyebrows furrowed. Transferring the tray to her left hand, she placed her right hand on Bilbo's shoulder, making him jump.

"I'm sorry, sir. Are you alright? Are you afraid-"

"Why does everyone keep asking that? It's not like I'm the only one in the world who gets scared!" He threw his arms in the air, making a scene.

"Thank you for the drinks." Gandalf waved the waitress away.

"My dear fellow, why, I've never seen you this troubled." He pushed a cup of tea and a cake to Bilbo.

Bilbo wrapped his fingers around the cup, grateful for the heat it radiated.

"It's been years, Gandalf. I-I don't think I'm ready for another adventure." He groaned. "It's probably for the best. I'm sorry I wasted your time."

"You aren't wasting my time, Bilbo. Because, whether you like it or not, you're coming with me to Erebor. I've already submitted your resume. You're perfect for the job."

"Did the company say so?"

"Well-"

"So, you're telling me that I'm going to _have to _go to an unfamiliar place to apply for a job you wouldn't even tell me, just because _you _think I'm perfect for it?" Bilbo's veins throbbed in his neck.

"Yes."

Bilbo gave an exasperated sigh and fell back into the couch.

"Bilbo." Gandalf said in the most gentle voice he could do. "What happened to you? What happened to the man who wouldn't pass up on opportunities like this one?"

"He lost too much and he just doesn't want to lose any more. He's tired of taking risks and sick of playing a game where he doesn't win."

"I refuse to believe that. And I know you do too. You just have to prove it to yourself. Remember what your mother told you?"

"Life starts the moment your feet get swept off the doorstep and onto the road."

"I would hate to see you living a life you don't deserve. A life Belladonna Took would not have approved of. Or any Took would not have approved of, for that matter." Gandalf winked. "Take this risk. Trust me. You'll thank me – sooner or later."

"It better be worth it."

"He's worth the risk, Thorin."

Balin watched as Thorin drained his glass to fill it again with his fourth helping of wine. When problems arise, he knew that Thorin had the propensity to rely on alcohol to forget his problems. And ever since Thorin became the head of the Company and family, Balin has never seen him without a glass of wine in hand.

Balin's heart was suddenly filled with pity and compassion. And as Thorin reached for another helping, although it was painful for him to do so, Balin decided to gently take it away before the two rims even had the chance to touch.

"Balin."Thorin spoke in a hoarse but stern voice.

"No." Balin clutched the bottle tighter. "Not another. That's enough."

"You are not my sister. You don't have the bloody right to take that away from me. You don't have the right to act like her. You don't-"

Thorin froze mid-sentence, realizing who he was shouting at.

"I-I'm-"

"There is no need to apologize, Thorin."

"No, there is. I'm sorry. You're right. I've had enough."

Thorin walked toward the glass window, his eyes fixated on the cityscape below which resembled the night sky. Lights like stars gave life and warmth to the individual buildings, making it look less disjoined from its surroundings. Quite the opposite of what Thorin was feeling at the moment.

"Thorin." Balin whispered.

Thorin shifted his tired eyes from the window to his friend.

"Sorry." His lips forming an apologetic smile. "I'm listening."

"No, you're not. Let – let me take care of this. It's late. You're intoxicated and tired. Go to sleep."

"Balin, you've done enough for the company and for this-" Thorin cleared his throat and extended his arm, reaching for the folder. "Let _me _take care of this. I'm still sober. Trust me."

Balin reluctantly gave the folder before standing up and giving a deep bow. Thorin was about to open the folder when Balin turned and spoke before leaving.

"Give him a chance, Thorin. Give yourself a chance."

Thorin nodded, adjusted his lamp and put his reading glasses on.

"Bilbo Baggins."

The name rolled off his tongue with such ease that he was almost convinced that he wasn't meant to be so alone and disconnected with the world. But he knew better. He knew that the more he became attached to people, the more life took away those he cared about, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth whenever he dared mention them.

"25 years old. Became editor-in chief for 'The Shire Daily News' and has a column in 'Gardeners Weekly' named 'Gardens and You'."

Thorin flipped through Bilbo's works, scanning the news and magazine clippings and read those which piqued his interest.

'Hobbiton celebrates 125th harvest festival.'

'Hobbiton experiences first rainstorm.'

'Organic vs. Chemical Fertilizers: Which is Better for your Potatoes?'

'Plants that Bite. Watch your Fingers and your Wallet.'

Soon, he came upon Bilbo's picture. He ran his fingers over the glossy photo paper, smoothening out the creases. His lips curved upward and formed into a small smile upon looking.

Bilbo was wearing a brown waistcoat and a blazer that complimented his khaki dress pants. Over his white dress shirt hung a blue and yellow tie. It was quite a get up- something which Thorin would never imagine wearing in his life. But the image of Bilbo and his odd wardrobe choices wasn't the reason for his smile.

It was Bilbo's aura. It shone as bright as a single candle in a dark room and emanated warmth, enough to turn winter into spring. It made him feel something; he didn't know what it was but he missed it.

Then it hit him.

He wasn't supposed to get attached. And yet, here he was, clutching on to the photo as if it was life and he was on the brink of death.

"Give him a chance, Thorin. Give yourself a chance." Balin's words echoed in his head.

"I don't deserve another chance. I don't want to make the same mistake again. I don't want to lose anymore . . ." Thorin muttered, looking at Bilbo's photo.

"Some people are meant to stay in our lives and some people are meant to leave us. And you should realize that it's not your fault. That's life, Thorin. That's the game we play. We take chances, thinking we know the outcome but really, do we? The world does not depend on percentages and probabilities. We're meant to lose something or someone, someday. But that shouldn't stop us from trying our best to fight for the things worth keeping, even if it does hurt us." His sister once told him.

The question now is: Was Bilbo worth it?

**Author's Note: **Don't hesitate to review :)


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

Bilbo sat in Gandalf's Chevy 57 playing with the loose thread on his coat, rolling it into a ball when he accidentally pulled on it too hard. He glanced outside and saw that the rain had ceased. The once dark sky was now as blue as his favorite flowers – Forget- me- nots. People were starting to step out of their homes and open their windows. The already noisy town became even noisier.

But he didn't mind.

The car had already passed the gate out of Laketown; all the noise turning into reverberations he wished to never hear again.

Gandalf had told him that it would take at least an hour to arrive in Dale – the town adjacent to Erebor.

"Must we really pass through Dale? Isn't there another way?" Bilbo asked for the fifth time within the first thirty minutes of their trip.

"Yes, we must. No, there's not. Dale is the only passage to Erebor. Now, Bilbo, if you're going to keep asking-"

"I know. I know. I might as well write it down to remember."

"It's nice to know that you've remembered what I told you years ago."

"Of course I did. I wrote it down." Bilbo said sarcastically.

Gandalf smirked and shook his head.

"Oh, will you look at that?" Gandalf spun his laptop, showing Bilbo the letter he received from the one who received Bilbo's resume.

'Dear Mr. Grey,

We are pleased to inform you that the position you have requested is open for Mr. Baggins to take. We will be expecting his presence for the orientation as soon as it is possible.

Sincerely,

Balin'

"And you wouldn't believe me when I said that you were perfect for the job." Gandalf said with an I-told-you-so tone in his voice.

"I still don't know the job I've been accepted in. Would you mind telling me what it is?"

"I think it would be best to leave it as a surprise, since you seem to have a knack at coping with 'unexpected' things."

"I don't like what I'm hearing."

"Dear fellow, trust me, it's better than it sounds."

"It better be. I'm putting more trust in you than the bank who keeps all my savings."

Time passed quicker than Bilbo expected. After a few drinks and exchanges on each other's lives, they arrived in Dale.

Bilbo stepped out, inhaling the fresh air- fresher than the air in Laketown. Gandalf followed soon after, also taking a deep breath.

"Oh, it's beautiful." Bilbo breathed, putting a hand to his heart.

"It is, isn't it? It's a shame I wouldn't be able to accompany you."

"What! Why?" Bilbo's cheeks reddened and he started shaking in nervousness and anger.

"I have other matters to take care of." Gandalf retrieved Bilbo's suitcase from the Chevy's trunk.

"Matters more important than this one?"

"Yes." Gandalf shoved a key and some money into Bilbo's hands. "My colleague, Radagast Brown, has things he wishes to tell me."

"There are so many things I wish to tell you right now." Bilbo said through gritted teeth.

"Well, it'll have to wait. Here's a map. Try not to get lost this time. I've heard that it's dangerous to roam in the less populated areas in Dale." Gandalf shut the door before Bilbo could say another word.

"Ok. Don't panic. You have a map." Bilbo paced, fumbling with the map. "Oh, potatoes. No, no, no. You can't be in another language. You just can't!"

Bilbo dropped the map, shaking. His arms found its way around him, his hands harshly rubbing over his waistcoat. He felt colder than a winter's night without a fire. His lungs, frozen, unable to function well enough to allow oxygen to enter his body. He gasped for air as if he was drowning and no one was there to save him.

Or at least that's what he thought.

"Breathe. In. Out. That's it."

A paper bag was shoved in his hand and placed in front of his face. There was a voice in his ear telling him what to do and a hand on his back, stroking it ever so slightly, the way his mother did when he had mini panic attacks.

He didn't notice that he was squatting until he felt arms pulling him up. Removing the paper bag from his face and tucking it into his waistcoat, he dusted himself off.

In front of him stood the man who belonged to the voice. He was wearing a simple green and white striped polo with his jeans. On his head was a brown cross creek fedora, its fibers sticking out and its simple gray strap stained with who knows what. The man was grinning from ear to ear.

"Feel better now, lad?"

"Yes. I'm fine now. Thank you." He closed his eyes. "Please tell me I'm in Erebor."

"No, no. This is Dale. Erebor is . . ." The man pointed to a skyscraper. "Over there."

"Oh, I, my, that is quite far." Bilbo clicked his tongue. "Well, I better get going."

Bilbo ambled to Dale's entrance and stood under the welcome sign. He noticed that Dale was similar to Laketown but lacked the new advancements in technology. To him, Dale could be compared to the setting of his favorite Shakespearean books. It was as if someone decided to paint a picture of Venice – with their own twists in it – and brought it to life right before his very eyes; untouched by the modern world and preserved in its own rustic beauty.

Bilbo could've spent the rest of the day staring at a place he was so familiar with, but pressing matters forced him to focus on what's important. Slapping his pockets, he tried to remember where he put the map.

"Looking for this?" Bilbo heard a familiar voice behind him.

He spun and saw the man who helped him when he had a panic attack a while ago.

"Yes. May I have it back, please?"

"Of course." The man willingly gave the map to Bilbo "You know, it's easier to get to wherever you need to go if you just asked for help."

"I'll understand this soon enough."

"Ah, I see you don't trust me. Even after I just saved your life."

"No." The pitch in Bilbo's voice increased an octave.

The man raised a brow.

"Alright, yes. I'm sorry. I've had bad experiences with strangers." Bilbo hung his head low.

"Don't worry, lad, I understand." The man chuckled. "A wise man once said, _Dijnu hyadakh ghivasha, uruthukhiktzu hyemrur ra hurumizu tada khjumhizd ana zu."_

"What does that mean?" Bilbo tilted his head to the right, his eyes lit up with curiosity.

"Trust is a rare treasure, hand it out scarcely and honor those that give it to you." The man beamed. "Let me at least introduce myself so we won't be total strangers. What you think?"

The man took off his fedora and bowed deeply.

"I'm Bofur. At your service."

"Bilbo Baggins, at yours." Bilbo imitated Bofur's bow but ended up a bit dizzy that Bofur had to help him regain his balance.

"Thank you. Again."

"Trust me now?"

"Yeah."

"Then get rid of the map and allow _me _to get you to Erebor."

Bofur took the liberty of touring Bilbo around Dale – telling him of the establishments and the people who worked there. It wasn't long until they reached the town center.

"What about that?" Bilbo advanced to the oak tree standing in the heart of Dale.

Bilbo turned around and saw Bofur standing a few feet away from the tree, a dejected – almost lonely look on his face. Bilbo directed his focus back on the tree and noticed a stone tablet shaped like a shield attached to it. His fingers ran over the unfamiliar characters carved on it. It was very unlikely that he would let his head be filled with unanswered questions. But he deemed that it would be wise to leave himself with the benefit of the doubt for the time being.

"Some stories are best told when it means something – to the one telling and to the one listening. It may take some time. But you should know, Bilbo, that things become more valuable when it has meaning." Bilbo looked from the budding flowers on the trees to Bofur, his mother's words softening his heart.

"Oh, uhm. . . " Bofur stammered.

Bilbo placed a hand on his friend's shoulder and shook his head. Bofur nodded and smiled gratefully at Bilbo.

"_Akminruk zu._ Thank you."

They continued their trip in silence albeit feeling as if a great weight had been removed. And after a while, they ended up under the welcome sign of Erebor.

"It doesn't really look like it wants to welcome us in." Bilbo shrunk back, the two guards had their guns aimed at them.

"What is your business here?" A gruff voice was heard from behind the two guards.

"_Shamukh_, Dwalin!" Bofur greeted cheerily at the man who spoke.

"How did you? Oh, right. Never mind." Dwalin's eyes shifted from Bofur to a pale Bilbo. "And who are you?"

"I-uh-uhm." Bilbo stuttered.

"He's Bilbo Baggins."

"What is your business here?" Dwalin grumbled, eyes still fixated on Bilbo.

Bilbo wanted nothing more than to melt into a puddle as quickly as a popsicle would melt on a hot summer's day. But he knew that he had to learn to face his fear- the one standing in front of him, looking at him as if he was easy prey. So, he gathered up his courage and spoke.

"I'm here to work for Mr. Oakenshield. And-and I can prove it. I think." Bilbo brought out the key Gandalf gave him and showed it to Dwalin.

With one curt nod from Dwalin, the guards put their guns down and let Bofur and Bilbo through.

Bilbo stood at the entrance, enchanted. Building after building stood tall and proud, reflecting the sun rays like newly polished gems.

"Are you coming or not?" Bofur called.

Bilbo dragged his suitcase hurriedly to get in the cab Bofur called for them.

"To Thorin and Company."

In less than fifteen minutes, they arrived at Thorin and Company's skyscraper. Its magnificence unparalleled to the buildings his eyes first set upon when he arrived. The structure and the height stressed the obvious prestige present in the high-rising tower. Its glass doors were embellished with a familiar sight – an oak tree with a shield in the middle.

They both entered and just when Bilbo felt self-assured, Bofur was whisked away. He moved toward the receptionist who was giving all his attention to the person on the phone. Bilbo had to clear his throat just to get the receptionist's attention. The receptionist humphed and put the person on hold.

"May I help you?"

"Ten minutes ago would've been nice." Bilbo thought.

"Yes, I'm here to meet Mr. Oakenshield."

"I believe Mr. Oakenshield is in a meeting. You could leave your suitcase here and wait in the receiving area. It's on the 57th floor. Take a right . . ."

It was a challenge for Bilbo to remember the directions because they were a mixture of his language and the gibberish he heard from Bofur and the people in Dale. He was about to ask the receptionist to repeat the directions but he was ignored.

"I guess I'll have to trust my instincts."

It turned out that his instincts stink. When he stepped onto the 57th floor, he took a right and got lost in the multiple hallways. The signs on the door weren't much help, considering that they were written with more unfamiliar characters.

"I really have to learn their language."

He saw that in one of the rooms opposite to him, there was a small commotion. If he assumed correctly, the room may be full of people who could speak his language and might be willing to help him. Barging into the room, he noticed that he was right about one thing – the room was full of people. These people raised their voices at him, probably insulting him in Khuzdul.

"Look I know you're mad and you're probably making harsh comments about my clothes or my looks. But could you a least say it in a language I understand." Bilbo exclaimed.

"Ah, a common speaker." One of the men seated, lowered his glasses and inspected Bilbo more closely. "And with attitude, no less."

"Not what we'd expect from you, Thorin. But let's see how this plays out." Another man spoke. "But if this idea is garbage, well, you know where garbage belongs. And wherever your idea will go, your magazine will follow."

"The fate of your magazine lies on this man. Pray, he won't let you down. Go on lad, present your idea."

Bilbo looked from the men who spoke to the man being spoken to – Thorin Oakenshield. Their eyes locked and he saw glimpses of fear, desperation, defeat and an unspoken plea in Thorin's deep blue eyes. Thorin was the first to break eye contact, leaving Bilbo with the decision to either save the magazine or to lose it forever.

No one had ever trusted him with so much. And even if he didn't know Thorin, the other people in the room or what he was doing, he knew he didn't want to let Thorin down.

"Yes. Yes. My presentation." Bilbo clasped his trembling hands together hoping that the board members wouldn't notice his agitation.

The room was silent enough to hear every thud made by Bilbo's shoes. And after adjusting the neckline of his suit, he cleared his throat.

"Esteemed board members." Bilbo smiled and lifted his chin a little higher. "It is my honor and pleasure to discuss with you the new idea for the next issue."

His eyes landed on the title of the presentation he was supposed to give – Strategically Built Architecture and How it's been Erebor's Pride for the past 50 years. Wincing, he closed the laptop.

"Come on, Bilbo." He thought. "What inspires you to keep going?"

"Courage."

"Courage?" Many of the board members raised their eyebrows, Thorin included.

"Yes. Courage. I've always been someone who would rather play safe then take risks. To be honest, without courage, I wouldn't be here right now."

"This isn't about you lad." One scoffed.

"Shut it, Balor. Let the man speak. Continue."

"Ah, thank you. But-but Mr. Balor is right."

Balor's chest puffed up at the compliment.

"This isn't about me alone. It's about all of us. To live a life in fear means never living at all. We tell people that being mediocre is alright, admirable even. But is it?"

Many of the board members shook their heads which made Bilbo smirk.

"See. All of you disagree with what most believe in."

"What's your point lad?"

"My point is that we should allow people to read articles of real life stories of people who were courageous enough to step out of their comfort zone to fight for what they believe in – may it be a homeland, a loved one or even something as simple as an idea. Let us inspire them to not just make a living but to live a life that they'll be proud of."

The board members were silent and were glancing at each other. No one dared comment nor give any sign of approval to Bilbo. Bilbo took this as a sign for him to go.

"Thank you for your time." He bowed deeply.

Bilbo left the room defeated and drained.

"There goes my last hope for a life I'll be proud of." He muttered to himself, bringing out his phone and texting Gandalf.

"You were wrong about me. I don't deserve a better life because I'm not worth anything. I'm sorry I let you down."

_I'm sorry I let myself down._

**Author's Note: **I hope you guys liked it. Reviews are encouraged :)


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